All systems go
by make-mine-a-kiaora
Summary: Spoilers for episodes up to and including 6x09. A story written entirely in drabbles. Jane's flight from a murder charge which would be courtesy of the FBI. Please read from the beginning. It involves some aliases and therefore won't make sense otherwise. Please forgive me that I take some poetic licence with distances during the story. Reviews and feedback very welcome.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and make no money from fanfiction. _

Hauling himself upright, Jane looked down on McAllister's body. For the last few moments, he'd expected his own life to end. That he'd just stop like the monster to which he'd been bound. Hell, he'd even thought of making it happen.

But survival instinct came through instead. Life was surging within him like maple sap rising in the spring. No more implacable determination, no satisfaction or horror or regret. He just… was. He must have rebooted.

Leaving the gun curled in McAllister's hand, Jane took the phone, calling the one person who would care beyond all others that he'd survived.


	2. Chapter 2

_Usual disclaimers apply_

Jogging across the park, Jane felt his brain kick back online. He was going to live. To survive. And not in some crumby jail cell, because this wasn't a crime. It had to happen. It was justice. And the only way possible given the collapse of law enforcement.

Step one: find cover.

Heading into the copse nearby, Jane paused inside the tree line and checked his path. Good, no witnesses. Removing his jacket, he took off his vest, redistributing his cash supply between other pockets. Then, hurling the vest up into the tree canopy, he shrugged back into his jacket.


	3. Chapter 3

_Usual disclaimers apply_

Exiting the stand of trees, after checking the coast was clear, Jane moved to step 2.

Sometimes the clothes do not make the man, as someone once said.

He was now Tommy Sawley, a stooping man weighed down by the world. An unsteady gait, furrowed brow and downcast eyes. That would do for now.

Turning left, away from the direction of likely pursuit, he ambled off in search of the nearest supermarket. Somewhere large, busy and anonymous where he could buy rations, strong aftershave, cheap clothes and some scissors. Then no human would recognise him, and no dog would either.

* * *

_A/N "Sometimes the clothes do not make the man" taken from the George Michael song 'Freedom', though it also relates to an older proverb._


	4. Chapter 4

_Usual disclaimers apply._

Step 3, the supermarket run, went without a hitch. He paid at the automatic checkout and then ambled out of the Walmart, maintaining character despite the fizz of adrenaline through his spine and fingers. He'd even got a kettle and some basic teabags.

Then onto the car rental down the street, fake ID and driver's licence at the ready. Looking for something low range and cheap. Just like Tommy.

Half an hour later, 'Tommy' was on his way. When streets of Sacramento gave way into open countryside he pulled off at a deserted rest stop. Time for a quick change.


	5. Chapter 5

_Usual disclaimers apply_

Putting his old clothes in the trunk, Jane took the wheel again, baseball cap pulled low. The "I love California" T-shirt clung to his ribs and biceps whilst the corduroy trousers were sloppy and ill-fitting. Only the belt held them up. Even his beloved shoes had been ditched, in favour of some grey and black trainers.

Good enough for now. He could add to the wardrobe once he neared the Nevada border. The cops would think he'd break south, or perhaps north, or to a nearby airport. They wouldn't expect him to call in some favours in a border casino.


	6. Chapter 6

_Usual disclaimers apply_

_Second part of a double post today_

Reaching the casino as twilight thickened into night, Jane smiled. Pulling into a secluded corner, away from the spotlights, he changed once more, this time into a plain black T-shirt and some flattering black jeans. After transferring the provisions into a new rucksac, Jane carefully modified both car number plates using a permanent marker pen, turning the 3 into an 8. With both sets of used clothes hidden in plastic bags, he locked the car, leaving only an envelope full of money and an apology in the trunk. It might take a while but the rental company should get refunded.


	7. Chapter 7

_Usual disclaimers apply_

What few people knew was that this casino had lockers for honoured guests. Very secure lockers held under armed guard. All very discreet. And guess who had one.

Flipping the correct ID into his hand, Jane strolled up to the guard like he was a man used to having staff at his beck and call. Tommy Sawley was long gone. This was Mr Paul Redding, successful entrepreneur and occasional high stakes poker player.

As expected, the guard welcomed him and waved him through. After securing away all potentially incriminating evidence, Jane stopped for a quick chat on the way out.


	8. Chapter 8

_Usual disclaimers apply. Another double posting today. Merry Christmas!_

That had gone well. A little judicious hypnosis worked wonders.

And now he had the kit – and the medium black suitcase - that he'd stashed here after the Lorelei plan went terminally bad.

Patrick Jane was no more, and neither was the temporary Tommy. From here on, Paul Redding was more than a name. He was a person – blood, tissues, bone and brain, history and home.

Too bad the cops didn't know of the unaccounted for fake identities that he'd acquired during the Eve Mulberry case. Murphy had been a true artist. It was scandalous not to honour his work.


	9. Chapter 9

_Usual disclaimers apply_

Renting a room for the night, Paul Redding dropped off his things before heading to the main lounge for a drink. Leaning against a wall, sipping his whisky on the rocks, Paul watched the punters playing poker, looking for the right kind of mark. No, sorry, potential business opportunity.

And there he was. High end car sales, if Paul didn't miss his guess, but with enough 'extra' – probably cocaine – on the side that no way would this man call the cops. And sufficient 'player's honour' to cough up on his debts. Or in other words, a good grasp on reality.


	10. Chapter 10

_Usual disclaimers apply. Double posting._

Softly, softly. No need to spook the target. The man's current poker game was nearly done, and he was holding his own, despite some clear tells. Paul reckoned another half hour or so and there'd be chance to cut in on a new game.

Moving out onto the floor, replenished glass in hand, Paul worked a couple of blackjack tables whilst waiting. Win some, lose some. Make a little profit but nothing of any note. Inhabiting his new persona in every detail, he allowed some moments of apparent rookie enthusiasm whilst avoiding dealers that might recognise him. Once a con…


	11. Chapter 11

_Usual disclaimers apply_

Taking his seat, Paul assessed his fellow players. The mark, one Timothy Spalding, was to his left. The other players, Anthony Greaves and Jonathan Bailey, were not in the same league. One occasional player and one newbie. No challenge at all. Jonathan was to deal.

Paul relaxed, taking pleasure in the familiarity of the game, in the ebb and flow of cards and money chips. Subtly he led them all, defining the direction of the dance. Anthony folded first, and then Jonathan in the next round. Now just for Tim and, fool as he was, the man was feeling lucky.


	12. Chapter 12

_Usual disclaimers apply._

One hour and twenty minutes later, Paul strolled back to his hotel room, well fed and with the keys to a new Mercedes dangling in his hand. One careful owner. Ten thousand miles on the clock. And legally his. The casino's resident lawyers had overseen the transfer and held all documents.

Waking after 4 hours of refreshing sleep, Paul rose and brewed a pot of tea, snacking on the leftovers that he'd liberated from his evening meal. After cutting and colouring his hair, he secreted his valuables in his shoulder and belt pouches and packed ready to depart before daybreak.


	13. Chapter 13

_Usual disclaimers apply._

Hitting the open road, Paul drove due east, heading into the sunrise. A long day's motoring lay ahead, eating up the miles to New Mexico. From there he would head to the border.

The vehicle purred quietly, almost gliding over the road with the superior suspension. And the seats were comfort itself, and the heavy window tints would be useful later, filtering the desert noon-day sun.

Everything had unfolded exactly as planned. Paul smirked as he thought of Abbot thrashing around in Sacramento. His quarry was long gone. Though the Blake Association cleanup might distract the guy for a while.


	14. Chapter 14

_Usual disclaimers apply._

_A triple drabble this time. After this post there will be a break of about a week because I'll be away. However, I've just finished writing this story so I should be able to post regularly after that._

_Thank you for reading._

Flashing lights and sirens. Uh-Oh.

"What can I do for you officer?" Paul got out of the car as ordered and selected his most charming smile.

"Are you the owner of this vehicle?" The traffic cop did not look impressed.

Paul thought quickly. It would not do to mention poker. The FBI may have ways of tracking such things through all the different police departments. If their employees were as smart as van Pelt then they definitely would.

"Yes, sir. I bought her from a Mr Spalding two days ago. Isn't she beautiful? I'm taking her for a spin."

"Mr Spalding. Hmm." The cop looked even more disgusted. Gesturing to his colleague, the other cop pulled out a laptop and typed the details in. Nodding at the screen, he passed the computer over to Mr Sour-Faced Cop, whose scowl grew even bigger.

"Ah. The Change of Ownership documents have been filed. May I see your insurance documents and driver's licence?"

After rummaging in the glove box, Paul passed them over, concentrating on maintaining his affable and slightly worried expression.

"I'm sorry officer, is there a problem?" He tried to calm his racing mind. The PD would not search the car without due cause and right now they didn't have any. Searching the car would be OK, though they may worry about the lightness of his packing. A body search would mean that the game was up.

Sighing, the Traffic Cop shook his head. "No sir. A routine check, that's all. Everything is in order. Have a good day."

As the two cops walked back to their vehicle, Paul concentrated on their conversation using his acute listening skills. The words 'cocaine' and 'Mexico' drifted back to him. It looked like Spalding's little drugs ring might have been busted. What perfect timing!


	15. Chapter 15

_Usual disclaimers apply_

Setting the cruise control, Paul fought the urge to floor the accelerator. It was best to keep an even speed, give no sign that he was spooked. His identity would hold for the moment, since his cover story had passed muster. But Spalding was the type to sing like a robin in winter. If he told them the truth about the poker game, the cops likely wouldn't buy it and the casino lawyers were unlikely to have left fingerprints. If he lied, they'd most likely see through him anyway. Either way, this vehicle and this ID were no longer safe.


	16. Chapter 16

_Usual disclaimers apply._

He had one more solid ID for use at the Mexican border and not before. Time for a rethink.

In the next sizeable town, Las Cruces, Paul stopped. Checking into a hotel for five days, he made use of the facilities and parking. After eating, showering and sleeping for a couple of hours, he changed clothes and hairstyle, colouring his locks a chocolate brown. Abandoning the empty suitcase, but taking the door key, he ran, leaving the car, credit card and name of Paul Redding behind him.

Catching the Greyhound Bus, he doubled back through New Mexico, heading towards Colorado.


	17. Chapter 17

_Usual disclaimers apply._

Jumping ship near Albuquerque, Jane knocked on a farmhouse door, hoping that Sam's sister Jen hadn't moved in the last few years. When he and Angela escaped the carnie life a few others had followed. Jen married a Texan farmhand she met in Minnesota, and settled for the sedentary life.

"Yes?" The tall, curly haired woman had aged well though grey hairs now flecked her chestnut locks.

"Jen! You know who I am, surely."

Jen squinted, biting her lip, before she ventured, "Patrick? Patrick Jane?"

When Jen threw herself into his arms, he knew that he'd found a home again.


	18. Chapter 18

_Usual disclaimers apply._

Relaxing over a meal, Patrick chatted to Jen and Mike, her eighteen year old son. It felt so good not to be on guard for the moment.

Bunking down in the spare room, after a long shower, Jane slept for six hours and woke refreshed in mind and body.

But just as they were finishing breakfast, a loud knocking sound echoed through the house. A loud, cop-like knock. Jane dashed upstairs, hiding his belongings in the wardrobe and standing behind the door, listening intently.

"Mrs Sandrickson?" The voice, unmistakable, caused Jane's blood to freeze. Abbott! What was he doing here?


	19. Chapter 19

_Usual disclaimers apply_

By the sounds of things, Abbott soon departed. Jane cursed under his breath. He hadn't heard the conversation but he could guess. Counting to twenty, he hoped intently that Jen would use her sense. Would not come running upstairs.

If Abbott had known he was here, he would already have been arrested. It must be a fishing expedition but that guy was far too smart. Few people would have spent the time and effort necessary to trace Jane's carney roots and contacts.

The question now: was this a speculative visit or had someone been left behind to watch the premises?


	20. Chapter 20

_Usual disclaimers apply._

Half an hour later, Mike appeared with some motorcycle leathers and a helmet.

"I was watching. There were two of them in one vehicle and they've gone. Least for now."

Jane nodded. It sounded like a speculative visit, not one with any real evidence behind it. He was probably OK but he needed to leave now, both for his sake and for the Sandrickson family.

Mike dropped his bundle on the bed. "Mum says you used to be a biker?"

Jane nodded, considering. "Yeah. Been awhile but I'll should pick it up again pretty quickly. Why? What are you thinking?"


	21. Chapter 21

_Usual disclaimers apply_

Hitting the backroads, bundled up in borrowed leathers and riding a borrowed bike, Jane gunned his way into Sparsville, the next settlement of note, where he had instructions to drop everything off with a family friend, Billy Siskins.

At Billy's shop, he left Mike's belongings. But biking had been fun and the anonymity of the helmet was attractive. Paying in cash, Jane got himself kitted out with some good second hand gear and a new bike.

From here on, he'd hit the open roads. If Abbott was so desperate to find him, he would go play in Abbott's back yard.


	22. Chapter 22

_Usual disclaimers apply._

The journey from New Mexico to Texas went smoothly and Jane cabined up at a family-run motel just outside Houston. Borrowing the owner's laptop, he did a little digging, memorising both the area map and details of the transport links.

After renewing his disguise, and palming the last of his ID documents, Jane, now Andrew Greenham, headed into Houston, leaving the bike behind. Sold, for good money, to the motel owner's daughter, Stella.

He waved goodbye to Stella as she dropped him off and watched her turn for home in the motel's pickup truck.

Time to do some more shopping.


	23. Chapter 23

_Usual disclaimers apply_

Forty five minutes later, sipping tea in an internet café, Andrew made use of some of the skills that his alter-ego Jane had absorbed watching van Pelt over the years.

He set up a new e-mail account and compared his options. He could fly out of Houston to a dozen different destinations in the next 24 hours, but there was always a possibility that he was on a national no-fly list rather than a regional one. And the ID, whilst top of the range, wasn't water-tight.

But from Galveston he could hitch a ride on a cargo ship. Or something.


	24. Chapter 24

_Usual disclaimers apply_

Looking though Galveston departures, Andrew started to laugh. A cruise ship was leaving the next day in the late afternoon, for the 'Carnival Magic' tour. You just couldn't make this stuff up. And cruise ship boarding meant long queues and only cursory ID checks.

Checking the availability, Andrew booked a single berth for the round trip. Now all he needed was to get to Galveston and get in the tourist mindframe.

He could start here with a new suitcase and some casual wear and then pick up a shuttle bus from the airport. Or a taxi. He had some options.

* * *

_A/N When searching for inspiration I found that there is indeed a 'Carnival Magic' cruise which operates out of Galveston and I couldn't resist using it!_


	25. Chapter 25

_Usual disclaimers apply_

A taxi it was. And it gave him chance to try out one of his two new cover stories. Currently he was a business widow, meeting up with former college friends in Galveston for a reunion celebration and to attend a wedding. Once he reached the ship, he would be a travel writer travelling incognito – apart from a few subtle hints to get the best service and to cover when he left the tour early.

Arriving in Galveston before nightfall, Andrew called by the cruiseliner office to pick up his ticket and found a pleasant waterfront hotel for the night.


	26. Chapter 26

_Usual disclaimers apply._

After some morning exploration, Andrew took his place in the line for boarding. Luckily he'd thought to buy a few books to keep him going so he passed the time reading, whilst shuffling up every few paces.

When he reached the clerk who was checking ID and tickets, Andrew's heart began to pound. This was it. The moment that he finally left American soil for good or the moment he was discovered and thrown in a Texan jail cell. At least Abbott would want to visit him there.

Hastily applying some biofeedback, Andrew calmed his breathing and steadied his pulse.


	27. Chapter 27

_A triple drabble_

_Usual disclaimers apply._

"Mr Greenham, welcome to our Carnival Magic cruise." The young lady, whose name tag said she was Annabelle, looked to be mid-20s with short black hair and a corporate suit. "Please wait a moment whilst I check your details."

She took his passport and ticket, running them both through a machine to her right. The machine beeped and Annabelle paused, looking puzzled. She took the passport and carefully perused it, cross checking the photo with Andrew's appearance whilst he struggled not so much to hold eye contact but to break it realistically without staring. Then she checked the ticket.

Running both documents through the machine again, she stopped, chewing her lip. Andrew's heart rate took off vertically, despite the biofeedback, but he plastered a concerned smile on his face and tried to show an interest.

"Ahem, Miss….sorry, Annabelle, is there something wrong? I know this was a late booking but my PA assured me that all was in order."

Annabelle seized his explanation eagerly. "A late booking? Let me check again."

Typing into the nearby console, Annabelle scanned the details that scrolled on the screen, one hand pressed over her nose and mouth. Meanwhile, Andrew decided to keep the pressure up.

"Yes. I mean, I travel a great deal. For work, you know. And sometimes we do take up opportunities at short notice. It's in everyone's interest if it works out well."

Annabelle must have spotted what she wanted because relief straightened her up like a wilted sapling in the rain.

"Mr Greenham, my apologies. Here we go. Cabin 342."

Andrew gave her a beaming smile, cutting off any platitudes before they could start. "Please, call me Andrew, Annabelle. I can go aboard now? Excellent. Really looking forward to it."

He skipped onto the liner and vanished down the promenade.


	28. Chapter 28

_Last 3 drabbles posted together. Thank you for reading and sticking with this story to the end. __Usual disclaimers apply._

* * *

Finding his cabin, Andrew threw himself headlong on the bed, then jumped up and started to bounce on it like a three year old. Relief and excitement coursed through him as he danced round his cabin, high on adrenaline.

Calming down a little, he sat and took stock. The liner stopped in Florida, where he could pretend to have a migraine and not disembark. After that, out of American waters and onto Montego Bay, Jamaica. There, he would jump ship, explaining he'd been recalled to work by an urgent phone call. Until then, he would lay low and be discreet.

* * *

After enjoying several days of luxury, Andrew stood at the debarkation point, suitcase in hand, having successfully spun a tale of urgency and woe for the ship's captain and crew.

He toyed with staying in Jamaica for a few days, soaking up the Carribean culture, but decided to press on whilst his luck held. After taking the shuttle to the Norman Manley International Airport at Kingston, he scanned the departures board with an increasing sense of delight.

Now to wheedle his way onto the standby flights list. The 15:15 to Caracas would do nicely. No US extradition treaty in Venezuela.

* * *

Clearing Venezuelan immigration after a comfortable flight, Jane exited the airport and stretched, breathing in deeply. A new country. A new life. He'd made it! Though he couldn't ignore the stab of regret at leaving the team, and especially Lisbon. He hoped beyond hope that she would be OK.

After a night spent in an airport hotel, booked under his own name this time, Jane took the next train for the coast. At first he wandered the region. But after three weeks he stopped in a quiet seaside village just off the main tourist trail. This place would do nicely.


End file.
